


Five Times Lennier Wished He Could Get Drunk

by Leyenn



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn





	Five Times Lennier Wished He Could Get Drunk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/gifts).



**1.**

He's always been the curious kind, and since he was very small, it's always gotten him into trouble. Even in Temple, when he tried his best to hide it, there were times when his _Secha_ despaired of his propensity to find a problem in even the most simple of ideas.

Of course he was made aware, as all travelling Minbari are, of the popularity of alcoholic beverages in Human society. They even cook their food with it, sometimes, he was shocked to know. He hasn't yet gathered up the courage to eat at any of the Human stalls and restaurants scattered around the station, just in case.

Avoidance. It's a very simple idea. Unfortunately, that's why it fascinates him so.

There's a small café, just across from the 'bar' that Commander Sinclair frequents, far enough away to conceal his presence and yet close enough to observe the Humans as they come and go. The first time he found himself sitting there was purely coincidence, and it even took him a few minutes to realise it was the Commander who had slipped into a seat across the Zocalo from him.

There is something about Sinclair that interests Satai Delenn, which only adds to Lennier's own absorption into this unexpected new pastime. He's been here enough now to know that the Commander has a penchant for a dark red beverage which is a Human type of wine - wine, with alcohol, what a strange idea - something called 'Merlot'.

Mister Garibaldi drinks only water, even on his worst days. At first, he thought Lieutenant Commander Ivanova was the same, but the second time she sat down he caught a glimpse of the assistant behind the bar pouring her drink from a tall bottle labelled in her native tongue. He's made particular note to avoid that bottle.

Sometimes they drink together, the three of them. More often than not, however, Ivanova seems to drink alone, and only rarely here. Sinclair and Garibaldi, though, they are more often sitting together, often enough that he's realised other people know to find them at the bar, too. That makes him feel a little less conspicuous.

He isn't always here, of course, only when his duties allow - but they fascinate him, these Humans, and fascination is a hard thing for Lennier to overcome. He's sure Satai Delenn must know, although she has said nothing, at least so far. Perhaps part of her even approves of his observing them, for they seem to fascinate her as much if not more than him.

He doesn't think, though, that Delenn would sit here and wish to join them, drinks in hand in a rare moment of companionship together.

  


*

  


**2.**

"It's so _embarrassing_."

He stares into his _nessi_ juice. It's a slightly less orange color than he likes, the taste a little sharper, but it's as close as he can get to home-grown here on Babylon 5.

"I can't believe it happened like that."

This is his third glass this evening. He's growing to like the sharpness of it, but it seems to be... lacking. He's not sure what.

"I'm never going to be able to go into MedLab again."

He sighs. "I am sure Doctor Franklin's discretion can be trusted. It was an accident, after all."

"_You_'ve never had an accident like that."

"I have... never had the opportunity," he admits. He won't be admitting that he would like to, that he envies the whole experience.

Vir puts his head in his hands for a moment. "You're lucky," he says, muffled in his crossed arms. Then he looks up again, downs the rest of his greenish drink in a single mouthful and taps the bar for another. It's a practised gesture that's become more practised over the months, and one Lennier has recently noticed himself pretending not to notice.

Lucky.

He thinks of Delenn, and is not entirely sure that is the right word for what he is.

  


*

  


**3.**

He wouldn't have had anyone else prepare this meal. It's a great honor, one that Delenn didn't hesitate in offering him when he made it known he wanted to do it for her. He may see less of her now, but it was worth sacrificing a week of his well-earned leave to take his part in the ritual.

He still loves her, in his own way, and he will never quite be content with the knowledge that she doesn't love him in quite that same sense, but it's a pain that's settled with time. Or begun to, anyway. The separation has been good for him, perhaps for them both, and Marcus takes good care of her where he can't quite bear to.

He's tasted Marcus' cooking, though. So it really wasn't a sacrifice to take leave for this.

He had to make some alterations to the ritual to allow for the differences in Delenn's particular case: Susan informed him before he began this that they won't be sure when it will happen, exactly, which he couldn't quite understand. He's sure Delenn will know the right time to begin, as all Minbari women do.

Susan's look at him across her own swollen belly could have melted iron with its jealousy when he said that. He escaped rather quickly then, suddenly rather glad of the amount of preparation in front of him.

In the end it took him six days to gather the ingredients and prepare the room. There are fifty-seven spices involved in this single meal, all carefully tested for the Human metabolism and promised to be completely safe. He needs to be careful enough without being concerned that he might poison any of the participants when he's done.

Two more days have gone past: he's on spice fifty-five now, a tangy herb that will stew down to a mild taste and a milky texture just right for a mother and child just finished with the pains of labor. Only two left to bless, and mix, and add to the ancient silver bowl that's his special familial contribution to the tradition, and then he's permitted to sleep for two hours while the tastes develop. As long as nothing disturbs him now -

He has the fifty-sixth spice bowl in his hands when the comm system chimes.

  


*

  


**4.**

It is a sickening feeling to watch barbarity like this and to know that he is involved, tangled up somehow, however peripherally, on the edge of something so monstrous.

Beside him and around him, people are talking, but he can hear nothing but the red buzz of anger and despair. He wishes he were alone, and desperately wishes he never has to be again, because he knows the images on the viewer now will haunt him for months, if not forever.

Narn is dying, falling, destroyed, lost, for the hundredth time this week in front of his eyes, and for just a moment of weakness he wonders who would blame him for a quick drink and a murder. It would be an almost poetic choice, he thinks, not himself, staring at the bottle of _brivari_ over the bartender's shoulder.

This is a darkness more frightening than that in front of his eyes. He leaves the bar without paying, because he's afraid of what might happen if he speaks.

  


*

  


**5.**

The night is dark and quiet out here, a blissful change from the revelry inside. He thought he was alone, until a moment ago, when he felt someone step up beside him on the path.

"You're going to do fine," Sheridan says, being very obvious about the way he grins when he says it. Lennier wants, almost seriously, to hit him.

"May I ask you a question?" he says instead.

Sheridan looks at him. "Sure, go ahead."

"I don't recall you being... uneasy at this time." In fact, he distinctly recalls _that_ night being rather debauched, although to his memory much of that was Mister Garibaldi's influence. He has no idea what Delenn said to keep Michael out of the preparations this time around, but he's never been more grateful to her for anything.

Now Sheridan laughs, and there's an ease but a hint of self-deprecation in it that makes Lennier feel a little better. "Are you kidding? Lennier, I was scared _shitless_. At least you're only marrying one woman."

"One is enough," he says with heartfelt honesty. Sheridan chuckles.

"So I've heard. I didn't exactly get that choice at the time."

"You have never regretted it," Lennier says then, half a question. Sheridan's smile softens a little. He knows what's being asked.

"Not for a minute."

That makes him feel a little more confident, if only a little. He tries to remember what it should feel like to smile without this nervous tightness in his chest. Perhaps, tomorrow, that will come more easily to him - right now, perhaps he should just give up trying and surrender to the experience.

A door opens briefly at the other end of the garden, footsteps sounding on the path, and for a few moments the sounds of laughter and music filter out into the night air. He thinks he hears Marcus' voice, quite possibly in song, but cut off rather suddenly and mercifully to the sound of Susan's laughter. Nervous as he is, this is a night for enjoyment, for friendship, and he's very glad to have these people around him. To distract him from the morning if nothing else.

Sheridan seems to know what he's thinking, grins again, and throws a companionable arm over his shoulders. "Come on, let's get you a drink."

  


*

  



End file.
